Pup is in his room, not sleeping.
I know he’s tired. I know he needs a nap badly. I know he’ll be happier for the rest of the day if he takes his afternoon nap.
But he fights it.
It makes me wonder if I’m ever like that. Do I ever resist things just because they’re hard, or because I’d rather do something more exciting? The obvious answer is a big neon yes.
I’ve been staring at the opening of my chapter 8 for the past six days. In the past month, six days is how long I’ve averaged for each chapter. And I’ve finished four chapters.
But here I am, at a rough spot – six days of blinking at that blank page, and closing the computer when I can’t figure out how to make it work.
Maybe I need to take some time to chew on it.
But more likely, maybe I need to just remind myself that this is a first draft. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m shoveling sand into the sandbox in lopsided heaps, so that later I can form it into a beautiful sand castle. (At least, as beautiful as a first-time novelist is capable of making.)
It’s hard, but so is everything else that’s worth it.